Had therapy again yesterday. She gave me this workbook to do to assess my depression, and apparently, it's severe. Although I can't imagine taking those stupid tests and ending up with anything less than severe. Maybe I'm just crazy to think that everyone's at least a little depressed. The world is pretty sucky, especially lately, and if you're walking around with some perma-smile just loving life, then maybe YOU'RE the weird one.
Or maybe I'm just a downer...who's to say?
Anyway, I finally realized that if there's some drug out there that can make me not be sad, I want to take it. I dunno why I fought it for so long. So I was all geared up to start some new happy-pill-regimin today, but she didn't even prescribe me anything! She said I need to see a psychiatrist first? Stupid me, I thought that's what SHE was.
So now I gotta wait until next Wednesday to go see some dude to see if I should take pills, even though she already told me I should. Makes no sense to me, but then again, I'm clearly crazy, people.
I already feel a little better, though I don't think it's because of therapy. As soon as I see that lady's face, I start crying. Turns out I have a lot of daddy issues...no surprise there. But at least my days seem a little brighter lately. Still eating like a cow though. That part sucks. My jeans are so damn tight...the doctor asks if I ever think about suicide and I wonder if she means about how I stop breathing when I zip up my jeans? If that counts, then yes, all the time.